No One, Except Alfred
by Beautiful-Crying-Angel
Summary: Tag to episode 1x06 "The Spirit of the Goat." Alfred wants Bruce to leave town for his safety, but Bruce just brushes the idea off. The Goat has the butler on edge - he's exhausted and angry and terrified that something will happen to Bruce. But the boy seems oblivious to how much Alfred cares, or he never would have said those words: "There's no one to take me from."


_**My first "Gotham" fanfic. I am loving the show! This is a one-shot tag to episode 1x06 "The Spirit of the Goat." (I meant to post this last week, but didn't get it typed up until now. =P There wasn't much of Bruce & Alfred in the latest episode.) These are my thoughts on a conversation Bruce & Alfred had. I hope you enjoy! **_

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><p><span><strong>No One, Except Alfred<strong>

Alfred was worried. Bruce wasn't taking this Spirit of the Goat maniac seriously. He was distancing himself from the victims, from "them," but he was one of them. He was a potential target – the only son of a prominent, wealthy family, heir to a multimillion dollar enterprise. Alfred reminded him of this fact, but the boy shrugged it off. He was dismissive of a lot of things these days. Alfred couldn't put the matter from his mind quite so easily. He couldn't just brush off the fact that this crazed killer could come after Master Bruce.

"Maybe you should leave town for a little bit. Pop down to the lake house. You like it there, don't ya?" His proud English blood and formal demeanour kept him from exposing his true feelings, but it was a plea veiled as a suggestion. The truth was that he was terrified for Bruce's sake, and he could have dropped to the floor at the boy's feet and begged him to leave the city, if he had thought it would have done any good.

He hoped the lake house idea might spark something in Bruce. The Waynes had often gone there during the spring and summer months; it was a place of safety and joy. Maybe if Bruce went down there it would do him some good. Maybe it would awaken something within him that had died that night; maybe it would remind him that it was alright to allow himself to feel again. Feel something. Anything. Maybe he could even reclaim some of his childhood again, with Alfred there to watch over him. But Bruce hadn't been there since his parents died. Alfred feared that he would never go there again.

"I'm not going anywhere," Bruce declared, unconcerned and defiant. Fearless. Or foolish. "I have work to do." God, how he reminded Alfred of Thomas when he spoke like that. The same determination would come into his eyes. A leader he was. Strong and unafraid. People looked up to him. One day, Alfred knew, Bruce would inspire people too. "Besides," the boy said, turning away from him and pinning another clipping to the board, "Why would the Goat take me? There's no one to take me from."

_Except me,_ Alfred thought, but he couldn't speak the words aloud. It wouldn't be appropriate – even if it was true. He watched Bruce as he considered the map of his investigation, the ever growing web of deceit, conspiracy and corruption. He seemed to carry the weight of all of Gotham's atrocities on his shoulders, though it wasn't his burden to bear, and he didn't have to do it alone. Right now, Alfred didn't care about Gotham. It could burn to the ground for all he cared. The only thing on his mind was keeping Bruce safe.

The boy was getting to be so tall. Tall and grown up. Already the childish features of his face were becoming more defined, like those of a man. It wouldn't be long now before he was a man, and not the boy that Alfred had helped raise, was still struggling to raise. Maybe there would come a day when Bruce didn't need him anymore. How in the hell was he supposed to handle that?

Alfred stood and silently left the room. He had to begin the supper preparations; he had to make sure that Bruce ate. He knew that unless he set food in front of the boy, Bruce would forget to eat altogether. He hadn't been taking care of himself lately. But Alfred would be damned if he let his boy waste away.

"His boy?" What was he saying? He couldn't allow himself to think such things. The boy wasn't his. Bruce himself had implied as much. "No one left to take me from" – those were his exact words. He didn't belong to anyone. Probably thought that no one would miss him if he was gone. Idiotic child. If anything happened to Bruce, if the Spirit of the Goat snatched him and...he didn't even want to think what, it would be Alfred who would suffer the most.

Ah, but he mustn't even ponder such things or he would never finish his duties. He must not allow himself to dwell on such fears, letting them fester and rot and haunt his mind like a disease, or he would cease to function altogether. And what would Bruce do then? Probably starve. Burn the manor down. No, he needed to stay composed, put on a reassuring face. Bruce needed him.

Or maybe it was Alfred who needed Bruce.

_**Gotham**_

Alfred didn't sleep for days. He couldn't, as long as that maniac was on the loose. For hours he exhausted himself pacing the hallways; double, triple checking locks on windows and doors; sitting and watching, outside of Bruce's bedroom door. During waking hours, he hardly let the boy out of his sight.

"What would you do if the Goat came?" Bruce suddenly asked, pausing in his perusal of a classified Wayne Industries document to glance at the butler. He had the strangest image of Alfred whacking the man with a silver serving tray.

Alfred was staring into the fireplace. "If that maniac showed up here, if he went after you, I would kill him." He looked at the boy, and Bruce saw something dangerous and savage in the man's eyes. He had never seen that side of him before.

"You should get some sleep, Alfred." Bruce looked down again, so he wouldn't have to see the dark circles around the man's eyes, the sunken frown lines around his mouth, the fierce set of his jaw.

"I'll sleep," Alfred mumbled, "when that lunatic is dead."

**_Gotham_**

The murderer wasn't dead, but he was in police custody, which would have to do. Alfred would have to content himself with the fact that the man was off the streets, and Bruce was safe.

Alfred looked at the sleeping figure and smiled. Bruce looked so innocent and peaceful like that – curled up in a ball on the sofa, placid and tranquil. A little angel one could have said, though Alfred loathed to be cliche. But sleep did allow him to be celestial in one sense, to transcend reality, to be free of his lonely existence, the nightmare of his life.

Alfred retrieved a blanket and laid it over the boy. There had been too much of this lately – spending the night in the study. Alfred swore it would permanently damage his back, sleeping on the sofa so often. But he didn't dare wake Bruce up and tell him to go to bed. These hours (if he was lucky to sleep that long) of quiet slumber were the only respite he had. The only moments of peace. He needed his rest. He was wearing himself down, working and reading and hunting for truth, finally surrendering to sleep only when he collapsed from exhaustion. No, wake him Alfred would not.

When Bruce was younger, and had fallen asleep on a couch or chair, Alfred would lift the boy up in his arms and carry him to bed. The little head would nuzzle against his shoulder, and he would feel the little heart beating and try to match his heartbeat to its steady rhythm. Bruce felt soft and warm in spaceship pyjamas that Alfred had washed just that morning – with the utmost care, because he knew they were the boy's favourite pair. He would tuck him into bed and plug in the nightlight. Then he would pause a moment at the door and whisper, "Good night, Master Bruce."

Bruce was too big now for him to carry. And since _that _night he had become such a light sleeper. He didn't want to chance it. Alfred gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Bruce's face. He would be needing a haircut soon. The butler smiled and yawned. Just a few more chores and then he would go to bed.

He checked on Bruce several times, and each time found the boy fast asleep. He could have sworn he heard the unmistakable click of the window latch closing, but when he hurried to the room all was still and secure. There was no one else in the room. Bruce slept on.

"You're getting paranoid, old chap," Alfred chided himself. But when it came to Bruce he would rather be overly cautious than take any risks. He undressed and settled into bed. No risks, he reminded himself.

_Alfred was in a long, dark corridor that he didn't recognize. There was an urgency in his step as he walked down the hall, opening one door after another, frantically. Panic rose in his chest as each new room proved empty. Whatever he was looking for, he couldn't find it. And he had never been so afraid in his life._

_ Then he heard it. "Alfred!" the shrill scream pierced the still, stale air. "Alfred! Help me!"_

_ "Master Bruce!" Alfred started running toward the sound, but the corridor seemed to stretch out before him, extending until it seemed endless. He needed to reach the boy."I'm coming for you, Master Bruce!"_

_ "Alfred!" the terror in the voice paralleled his own._

_ "I'm coming! Where are you?" Alfred threw open a door and charged through."Master Bruce!" No reply. No sound at all. The screaming had stopped._

_ This had to be the room. It was the only one that wasn't pitch black. There were candles lined on bureaus and mantles, casting an eerie glow that flickered, making the shadows appear to creep and crawl along the walls. There were red painted symbols on the walls that Alfred didn't understand, and skulls littered the floor. Some of them were horned, like rams or goats, but others were undeniably human. A magnificent four-poster bed dominated the room. The thick curtain was drawn shut._

_ Cautiously, Alfred advanced towards it and slowly pulled back the curtain, revealing a motionless figure. Its wrists and ankles were tied to the bed, and there were signs of bruising where they had struggled against their bonds. There was a pillow covering the figure's head. Alfred's heart rose to his throat as he reached forward. His fingers shook as he lifted the pillow, to reveal Bruce Wayne's pallid face._

_ The boy's lifeless blue-grey eyes stared up at him. "NO! BRUCE!" Alfred's knees buckled under him and he collapsed on the bed. The wail that surged from him didn't sound human. It rose from the very depths of his soul, and seemed to encapsulate all of the grief in the world. He gathered the corpse into his arms and stroked back the dark hair. "Forgive me, Master Bruce," he sobbed, closing the boy's eyes. "Forgive me." He swayed back and forth, as though to rock the boy to sleep._

_ "The Goat doth murder sleep," a voice whispered, close to his ear. Alfred jerked around, tightening his embrace on the body protectively. In the shadows at the foot of the bed a figure loomed over him, the dim light half-illuminating its ghastly face. At first glance, Alfred thought it was a man, but no, the towering figure was not a man. It was a demon straight from hell. Large, curled horns extended from a deformed head; where eyes should have been two dark holes, like the abyss itself, gaped at him. The thin, black lips twisted into a smile, revealing sharp teeth._

_ All the air in the room seemed to vanish. The monster lifted a clawed hand towards the bed. "Don't touch him!" Alfred yelled._

_ A sound between a snarl and a laugh escaped the beast. It pointed a finger at the boy, and again it whispered, "The Goat doth murder sleep." Alfred looked in horror at the dead boy in his arms. Where those familiar, beloved eyes had been only moments before there were two, bloody holes._

"NO!" Alfred shot bolt upright in bed. Someone hovered over him and reached out to touch him. He grabbed for the lamp and flooded the room with light, blinding both of them.

The boy shielded his eyes with his hand. He had a blanket draped around his shoulders, and his eyelids drooped, as though he had been suddenly awakened from sleep.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred asked, as though he didn't dare believe it. The nightmare was still to fresh and vivid before him. He seized the boy in his arms and pressed him to his chest, reassuring himself of Bruce's steady pulse and warmth. He choked back a sob. "You're alright, Master Bruce. You're alright."

"Of course I am alright."

"Yes. Yes, of course you are." The words seemed to bring Alfred to his senses, and he shook off the remainder of sleep. He released the boy and straightened the blanket around his shoulders. Bruce sat on the bed and gazed at him with questioning eyes. Had Alfred ever seen a more beautiful sight?

"You woke me up. I could hear you screaming from all the way down the hall."

"Could you? Well, I am terribly sorry about that Master Bruce. Won't happen again. I didn't mean to wake you. However, now that you are up, perhaps it would be best for you to sleep in your own bed. A mattress, you know, sir –"

"Alfred."

"Yes, sir?"

"You were screaming my name." The man was silent. He picked at a loose thread on the comforter. He would need to remember to cut that off in the morning. "Was it a nightmare?"

"Yes."

Bruce nodded. He knew all about nightmares, about how the same scenes replayed over and over again – your worst fears. And you couldn't escape them, no matter how hard you tried. Not even in the light of day. Because in nightmares there was truth, and that's why they were so frightening. "Was it about the Goat?"

"Yes."

"And about me?"

"Yes."

"Will you tell me about it?" a request, not a demand. Alfred smoothed back the boy's sleep tousled hair.

"I would rather not."

"Aren't you always telling me that talking about the nightmares helps?"

"Just knowing it wasn't true is enough."

Bruce nodded, slower this time, as he let those words sink in. "Alfred?"

"Yes, Master Bruce?"

"I won't ever let anyone take me from you."

"I'm glad to hear it. I don't know what I would do if anyone... ... Well, young sir, you had best be going to bed." He started to put off his covers, but Bruce stopped him.

"I can get to bed myself. You go back to sleep." He placed his hand on the man's shoulder so that he would lie back down. Alfred started to protest, but he acquiesced and settled back against his pillow. Bruce wasn't a child anymore.

Bruce pulled the covers back over Alfred and, somewhat shyly, tucked him in. He paused before turning out the light. "There's no one left to care about me. Except you, Alfred. No one loves me but you. You're the only one who hasn't left me."

"And I never will, Master Bruce."

The boy acknowledged the truth in this statement with a slight bow of his head. Then he bent over and gently kissed the man's brow. "Good night, Alfred."

"Good night, my boy."

**END**

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><p><strong>Leave your thoughts in a review!<strong>

Does anyone else think that they cast the perfect kid to play Bruce Wayne? Seriously. Not only is he super adorable, he has the angst down to a tee. And Alfred was well cast too. We really get to see his tough love side.

**Thanks for reading!  
>With my love,<br>BCA**


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